


Five Times Eames Exposed Himself to Arthur (But Not Like That)

by beanarie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lengths to which Eames will go to hide his weaknesses are, as Arthur puts it, "a tad psychotic".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Eames Exposed Himself to Arthur (But Not Like That)

-1-

"Gregory Fallon," Eames says.

"Walter Langkowski." Arthur doesn't look up from his screen. "I like this game. Hit me again."

"As diverting as spouting random names must be," Eames says. "That one happens to be mine."

"Huh," Arthur says cleverly.

"And my place of birth is Manchester. That should help as well."

"Is that right?" He had no idea it would be that easy.

Eames smirks fleetingly, proving that, in addition to this forging/shape-shifting thing Cobb told Arthur about, he can read minds. Then he makes this almost imperceptible lift of his shoulders which could be a shrug. "You would have found it on your own eventually. Now the time you would have wasted on the preliminary stage of my admittedly advisable background check can go toward more constructive pursuits, such as decreasing the chances of this job ending in our untimely deaths. All right?" He drums a tattoo on the desk and stands up to leave. " _Wonderful_. Have a good evening, Arthur."

As he nods his farewell and watches Eames go, Arthur can't help feeling a little... cheated.

-2-

They end up following the mark and his family into church for Easter vigil. Eames is gathering intel on the wife to put together his forgery. Arthur decided to go with because observing the subject himself allows him to critique Eames's work with more authority, and because often a pair can blend in better than a single person.

Barring weddings and funerals, Arthur has never attended mass. The good thing about Catholics, however, is that a good percentage of them only practice on holidays, such as today, and each parish observes in slightly different ways. The majority of the assemblage looks a bit uncertain and wrong-footed, so a little ignorance is perfectly normal. The skittish young couple in front of them kneels at what turns out to be the wrong time and looks up at the altar with a little collective gasp, apparently terrified they'll be consigned to Hell for crimes against the liturgy.

During the Profession of Faith, Eames's lips move, like someone who couldn't forget the words if he tried.

And that's how Arthur figures out that Eames is Catholic.

-3-

Eames makes a frustrated noise as he opens his box of takeout. "They put the ginger on the sushi," he mutters. "Who does that? ...I was hungry, too."

Martine enters the room and drops her sodden umbrella and coat at the door. "The game was called due to the damn weather. Couldn't get the video, Eames. Sorry."

"No worries," he says. "The rain date shouldn't be too far in the future. Just keep a close eye. Might have to end up doing it myself, but it wouldn't be a tragedy." The words are muddled because his mouth is full. He's eating the sushi.

Arthur frowns. "What are you...?"

Eames blinks at him blankly.

"You could have asked to switch with me," Arthur says, after Martine reluctantly trudges off again. "I might have even done it."

Eames twirls a chopstick between the fingers of his right hand while scribbling in a notebook with his left. "Don't know what you're on about. As per usual."

"Christ, I don't know if there's even a word for-"

That's when Cobb decides to return, shaking the rain out of his hair like a dog. "Something wrong?" he asks.

Eames doesn't miss a beat. "Arthur wasn't enamored with the fare," he says, dismissing the words even as they're being spoken, giving the illusion of a man so preoccupied he shouldn't even be holding this conversation.

Cobb looks confused, as if he can't believe such a non-issue is being brought to his attention (despite the fact that he asked). "Whatever. Get rid of the menu so we don't order from them again."

Arthur considers sending a text to Eames's phone to say that no one gives a shit if he hates ginger. But then the words would go on record somewhere.

The realization that he is enabling Eames's deranged paranoia in even the tiniest way makes Arthur tired.

-4-

The first night in Memphis they fall asleep with the radio on. Given that they traveled for twenty-three hours on five different modes of transportation before reaching this safe-house, such as it is, Arthur is so exhausted he barely notices the tinny strains of Patsy Cline serenading him as he drifts off.

The next night, Arthur finishes brushing his teeth in the sink, the only source of water in the shack. This time Elvis is playing instead of Patsy. "You want to shut that off?" If his irritation shows through, it's only because this job was a massive fuck-up in every way, except the part where they got what they'd gone in for.

With an agreeable "Mm", Eames turns off the radio and rummages around in his bag before taking out a cheap-looking, knock-off mp3 player.

Puzzled, Arthur gives a mental shrug and prepares to lie down, content to let that be the end of it.

Unfortunately Eames isn't finished.

"Puts me to sleep," he explains, closing his eyes. Eye, because the left one is already there, swollen nearly shut and probably hurting like a son of a bitch. "Can't drop off without it, actually. M'brain keeps kind of, you know, going." He makes a roll in the air with his index fingers to illustrate.

"This is far from the first time I'll have seen you unconscious without chemical assistance." But there were other people around. Passengers, co-workers. "Yet before last night, I can't recall any background music or headphones." As the pieces fall into place, Arthur can feel a familiar burn creeping up his digestive tract, consternation swirled with an irksome ribbon of uncertainty. _Am_ I _the crazy one?_ This happens at least once every fucking job. "So were you not sleeping then?"

"You could classify it as a sort of meditation?"

Arthur says nothing.

"A few of those times I was genuinely out," Eames offers.

"A few," Arthur repeats.

Eames breaks, staring at the radio and flicking it with his fingers. "Very few."

So the man would forgo entire nights of sleep rather than have anyone know this one human thing about him. "Tad psychotic, Eames," Arthur says, poking experimentally at the goose-egg on the side of his head. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he stretches out on the cot.

Eames slips on his headphones. They don't speak again until the client calls the next morning with the location of the hand-off.

-5-

The plan for phase one is unconventional, but solid. Forgery isn't needed at this stage, so Eames has to waylay the kids topside and keep them away from the nanny for twenty minutes. With Lilia building the dream, they shouldn't need more than ten. A combination of perfectionism and unwarranted self-doubt can get her off the rails fairly quickly, but she’s one of the most ingenious architects he’s ever worked with.

The dinner they ordered turned into empty plates clogging up the garbage can outside long ago. It's late. It's ridiculously late. Lilia hasn't been able to stop going back to the blueprints and making "adjustments", but finally it looks like she may be settling down.

Arthur's attention is elsewhere when he sees Eames approach Lilia and offer half his brioche. In the course of their two or three minute chat, as he's scrolling through the numbers in his electronic rolodex, he makes out the words "Northwestern quadrant" and he thinks nothing of it. Before he leaves the room to make his call in private, he sees Lilia throw a ball of paper at Minwick, who was cat-napping on the couch with the contents of the nanny's file scattered at his feet.

He returns fifteen minutes later to find Lilia and Minwick with their heads almost pressed together over the layout of the maze.

His stomach makes a command decision to start roiling pleasantly. "Guys?" he asks, patient for the moment. They look up at him with bloodshot, overworked eyes.

"We're going to need more time," she announces, distracted, edging towards distressed. "I thought... But no. It's just-"

Arthur doesn't have to say a word to cut her off. The expression on his face is enough.

"But, it's-" Minwick says.

"- _Fine_ ," Arthur finishes. "It's fine. You know what this is? You're perseverating. Fixating. It's not healthy. Go back to the hotel and get some sleep, the both of you. I'm putting a lock on this place until ten am."

They look doubtful. Arthur could go over the plans with them to explain exactly what is so fine about it, but he's just as tired as they are. His patience is not inexhaustible.

"Out. Now. Get your shit and move."

While Eames is packing up, Arthur is tempted to throw over his shoulder a ban against performing conscious inception on teammates solely for shits and giggles, particularly when it's to the detriment of the damn job. Dickhead.

At his back, Eames makes a sound as though he's about to speak, and Arthur does the polite thing and holds his tongue. "I really am crap with children, Arthur. Won't work. They'll scream, and even if the authorities aren't called, it'll attract all the wrong kinds of attention." His tone is the epitome of casual, but Arthur isn't dense. This is a confession.

No, more than that. This is him asking for help.

"Why me?" Arthur asks suddenly. Or finally, depending on how he looks at it.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be obtuse. That insults both of us." Arthur spins around in his chair, wanting to see Eames's face. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be as trust-worthy as you think?"

"Well... no." At Arthur's scoff, he just smiles curiously. "Have you ever breached a confidence of mine?"

Arthur's criminal sensibility tells him to be affronted. "I could have."

"Could you, really."

"Um-"

Then Eames leans over and kisses him and Arthur doesn't have time to consider hesitating to kiss him back, and, look at that, Arthur's learning all kinds of things today. All the while, he's thinking 'You idiot. You idiot.' and he's at least eighty-five percent sure it's directed at Eames and not himself.

Because maybe Eames is deeply twisted, but it's not like Arthur doesn't know that going in.


End file.
